


Wish Upon A Star

by motoroilfreeway



Category: DRAMAtical Murder
Genre: AU, Alien AU, Aliens, M/M, Other
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2014-12-21
Updated: 2014-12-21
Packaged: 2018-03-02 14:18:48
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 2,037
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2815112
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/motoroilfreeway/pseuds/motoroilfreeway
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>He wanted to be rescued from his high tower, and so he wished.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> I dunno. Aliens.
> 
> WARNING; UNBETA'ED

One, two, three.

One hundred, one hundred and one, one hundred and two, one hundred and three.

Two hundred, three hundred.

A hundred more until he lost count.

At present, he had no idea how many days has it been since his parents decided to bring him into this room and forever leave him. Maids leave him food through an opening on his steel door, sometimes books too, so he remained knowledgeable. He also reads them to pass time, since technology was off limits. They probably knew the first thing he’s going to do was call for help if he managed to get his little hands on them. How thoughtful of them, his parents; he thought.

At times that he started to notice became a regular thing, he prefers sitting by the large windows in his little living room. He can see people, the buildings, the streets, but they don’t see him. He realized they must’ve tinted his windows on the outside so no one would know he exists. Maybe he doesn’t have any parents anymore.

But that’s fine, he thought as he grew older. Maybe he doesn’t really need them at all. He managed to live this long here in isolation and solitude, after all.

He started to prefer sleeping in the day because the stars appear only at night. They’re really beautiful---brighter and way colourful than the lights in his room and the streets and the buildings outside; although he likes New Year because of the fireworks and children littering the streets, playing with sparklers.

He read different kinds of books too beneath the stars. He had no idea why, but their mere presence brings calm into his being.

When he ran out of science books, he moved to math, then they also ran out and he moved to another topic until he ran out of academic books too. He moved to rereading them again until he understood the concepts behind the subjects and soon everything became too boring he started asking for more.

At first he was ignored, but after attempts of making himself bleed and returning the food back into the opening in his door dyed red with his blood, they finally gave him what he wanted.

He wanted story books, so they gave him story books, just so he stop staining everything red and eat what they give him. Seems like they want him alive.

He realized he enjoyed reading story books more than those academic books he read---too wordy, so much technicalities and formulas and codes to remember, everything had to be precise. Stories he never got tired of reading, stories about princes and princesses and knights and dragons. Stars and wishes.

He knows wishing upon a star in his world is not enough to get him out of his prison, but he hoped anyway so he wished.

He wished and wished hard on the stars for something, someone, anything, to come or happen to take him away and get him out of this place.

He wanted to see the world, he wanted to feel it.

Maybe even get a happy ending, like the characters in his books did.

But he knows, deep inside, that a freak like him too dangerous he had to be locked up deserves to be destroyed or kept here, to make the characters of his own story happy. He’s the monster the knights and princes had to slay to get their princesses and happy ending. He’s not a prince in his tower waiting for his own knight to come get him and be happy. He’s the monster.

He knows that, but hoping is what is keeping him sane in this place. It’s what keeps the silence more tolerable, it keeps him from scratching himself till his skin becomes red and stains his nails.

Wish upon a star, he did every night, a finished storybook wrapped in his arms.


	2. Chapter 2

Since he finished his book early, he decided to call it a night and sleep by his windows where he can still see the stars twinkling in the late night sky.

Bright things, these stars are. Twinkling and bright, their colors never failed to amaze him how something so small can be so beautiful.

That was when he noticed something off of one of them tonight.

One of them seems to be growing bigger and brighter. The more he focused his sight on it, the more it grew and become brighter until it was already flying towards his window. He ducked, expecting his window broken---hopefully---only to feel nothing.

Opening his eyes he saw the bright light he once thought was a star pass through his thick windows---so thick he ended up bleeding when he tried to break it, only to fail again and again---and dart in front of his face until his nose is almost touching the bright thing. His eyes should have hurt with its brightness, but it didn’t.

It darted around him with speed his eyes could not chase, as if its analyzing him and then moved around his room. Every nook and cranny it ran through them, and then it stopped at his door. The metal door. The only thing that is keeping him from stepping and seeing the outside world.

He can’t help but watch and gulp at what the white ball of light is going to do.

Something thick and heavy clang, probably outside his room, and the door opened with a shuddering creak.

The light stood still in its place, and as if waiting for something, and slowly left. Turning on what he presumed was a hallway, it flew fast and with a blink of an eye its gone.

His door is still open.

He had a few seconds to think over what happened, let things run into his head for a while more until he realizes none of it was a dream. A glance at the clock on his high wall says it’s a few minutes past eleven, which means a maid will soon check up on him.

A shuddering breath was all it took and the next thing he knows, he’s bolting out of the door.

Closing the door with a careful clang of its big metal lock, he ran again. Towards the direction he remembers the light ran to. There’s a high chance no one was there, considering the lack of noise and panic. He knows that a glowing, floating ball of light is not common enough to not warrant fear and panic to those who see it.

He remembered the thundering beats of his heart that time it was floating in front of him, it was one of the things that he likes to keep in his head that he can hold on to and hope. He can also get scared. Monsters are not scared of anything and he’s scared. That has to mean something, no matter how much the other part of him says otherwise.

A few turns and entering every room with its door left open, he fell on his hands and knees when he stepped on concrete.

He’s stepping on concrete, his mind supplied. He was breathing hard because he never ran that fast in his life and he struggled to get up on his two small feet again.

He pressed his small hands against the concrete and dug his fingers against that asphalt.

As expected, he felt nothing.

Although this reward is better than nothing, so he accepted.

Once up, he took a long inhale and smelt the night air for the first time in years.

He can finally see everything up close, and in comparison to his big windows, he preferred this view. He honestly did.

He wanted to cry, but instead he ran again, faster and away from his prison. The farther the better.

\---

Not a few hours running around the streets and hiding from the cops did he immediately found the light that brought him his freedom. It’s not like he actually ran and hid to search for it, he just happened to run to an alleyway, by the dumpsters and see a big source of light coming from one of the trash can’s lids.

He approached the object with caution. Slowly, he lifted the cover and fell on his bottom in surprise when the ball of light immediately sprung out towards him the moment it was set free.

Again, like his first encounter with the ball of light, it was floating close to his face again, his nose almost touching the glowing thing.

He hears a faint sound he can’t quite describe as humming or buzzing but they’re quite close.

He chose to remain still, sitting on the dirty concrete by the dumpsters, his hands propped on his sides to keep him up with one of his hands holding onto a trash bin’s lid tightly as he waited for what the ball of light is about to do next.

This, however, was beyond his expectations.

He clearly remembers he was supposed to be looking at a small ball of light floating too close to his nose, not this person staring back at him just as intense as he did with the ball of light now gone. The tips of their noses are just as close, but he can’t quite tell if they are touching---he can’t feel it.

He never saw another person this close to him before. They were always behind his steel doors, and his parents’ images are long forgotten. Their forms have long blurred in his memory and were nothing but mere reflections on water---it always fades once ripples appear on the surface.

His breath hitches, and to his surprise he sees the person in front of him do exactly the same. He saw them shuffle, and then a pale hand reaches out to touch his face, his neck, his chest, and down to his arms.

He blinks for something falls between his eyes and he was forced to move away from the person in front of him. He realises the object that almost poked his eyes were the person’s hair, and he watched, fascinated, to see the white strands grow and stretch down, down, down until it touches the ground and coils.

The hands were still on him, and it pulls him back in into their personal space and puts their lips on his. He goes very still, finding the contact surprising and foreign.

The contact was brief, very brief. It was a mere brushing of lips and then the person was letting him go.

He scurries back a few inches away and manages to choke out a question, his voice scratching his throat, for not using it for a very long time. His voice sounded scratchy and he didn’t like it one bit. He frowns to himself, and waits at the person in front of him, sitting on their knees with their hands set on the ground. Whenever he tries to move anymore farther away from them, they slowly crawl closer. Their movements were somewhat jerky, like how a new born horse would on its first steps.

“What are you?” He asks again, voice still raspy and quite trembling, either from the cold or the discomfort he feels watching this person---being----on their hands and knees stare at him with curiosity of a toddler.

The person---being, he corrects himself---cocks its head to the side, and he notes how the white almost transparent hair moves along with him, like it was alive. The hair moves to frame his too pale of a cheeks and he sees the strands move and gracefully slide a little bit closer to him, some bits curling around his ankles not too tightly to alarm him, but enough to keep him in from running away.

Then slowly, it opens its mouth and says in a voice too many but synced as one, “Requesting for identification,”

He notices the too white irises slowly bleed a deep shade of bright gold, and then loses its pigment again.

The head cocks to the other side this time, and its eyes blink. “Access denied.” It says with finality.

This, he knows, is not a human being.

**Author's Note:**

> Just wanna apologize because I'm kind of halfway-ish to this fic when I replayed re:connect and realized noiz actually had private tutors  
> sorry


End file.
